Best Colours For Your Portrait

Solitude

The waves are slow and calm today. Harry keeps staring at the sea wondering if the waves are waiting to go violent after he tells the truth. Waiting for him to scream out his ultimate betrayal so that they can sweep him away from Louis.

Louis is sitting beside him with the Greek Mythology book in his lap as he flips through the pages, his body at ease beside Harry's scent. He tightens the new scarf around his neck and keeps the rest of it dusted against his stomach as he flips the next page.

Harry takes a deep breath and observes Louis. He thinks about all the possibilities of reaction. He can see Louis giving him the book and walking away, never wanting to see him again. He can see the most hurtful look on Louis' eyes. Maybe today's pain will beat yesterday's pain and cross it off?

"Louis,"

Louis answers with a hum, his eyes not leaving the book, he only squirms closer to Harry in response and keeps reading. He's delicate, calm and peaceful. And Harry hates to ruin this moment.

"I'm a painter," Harry confesses, his chest tightens and his hands making fists on his pants as he awaits Louis' response.

Furrowing Louis lifts his head and glances at Harry, his fringe moving with the wind and he lifts his hand to fix his hair. He stays silent, his curious gaze not leaving Harry.

"I was brought here to paint you," Harry continues.

Louis doesn't speak. He clenches his jaw, his eyes gazing hard at Harry's face. Nobody knows the internal turmoil Louis is going through.

Please don't do this to me, Harry. Louis wants to scream at him, slap him, tear off the book, throw away the scarf, destroy every memory with him, then kiss him passionately to create new memories.

Harry's hands shake as they slowly take Louis' hands in his. He strokes the back of his hand, he adores the veins running through his hand, the veins he drew and he's touching them now. He licks his lips and gazes at Louis again, "Please say something."

Louis looks away, he pulls his hand away from Harry and places them back on his lap after closing the book. His lips twitch, his voice small as he asks, "Is the painting done?"

"Yes,"

"So you're leaving?"

Silence. Harry doesn't know how to answer that positively. Yes, I'm leaving but I don't want to. No, I don't want to leave you.

"Yes, later today."

Louis scoffs, "You want me to see the painting first. Don't you?"

Harry's mouth agape as he stares at him shocked, "I'm...uh...yes."

Louis takes off his scarf and places it on Harry's lap. He gets up, starts loosening the strings of his cloak and he lets it fall on Harry's lap. He puts his hands under his pants and brings his tugged shirt out which now falls on his upper thigh. He takes off his pants and places it too on Harry's lap.

Harry can't help but take a glance at Louis' delicate ankles, soft legs that are joined up to firm hips and arse so round that it pushes the shirt from behind at least two inches up the back of his thighs. He fights himself to look away.

"I'm going to bathe," Louis doesn't wait for Harry's response as he walks towards the sea. He keeps going, dragging his feet along the wet sands, he walks and walks until he can only float.

The waves push against him, he spreads his arms and dips in the water. He rises from the cold water and pushes his hair back as his nose turns red. His lips twitch as he can feel tears sprung in his eyes. He can't cry.